Holy Wood Academy
by mlle.imandeus
Summary: Puckentine story! When Carly goes overseas Sam comes to study at Holy Wood Academy, a Victorian Girls College, only to find it is a hotbed of sorcery and spiritualism. At present all males will be gender swapped except for Beck, Dice, and half of Sikowitz. that may change. I'd like to publish as iCarly/Victorious/Sam&Cat because i use all the characters but the site won't allow it
1. Chapter 1

"Los Angeles. This stop Los Angeles. For patrons continuing on south toward San Diego please be advised we will be waiting here at Union station for thirty minutes before continuing."

My ears registered the words and the slight gap between my lids, as I cracked my eyes, saw the tall thin conductor in his navy blue uniform with its shiny brass buttons. But I was not really awake. Until Spencer, an old dear friend who was practically my foster brother, reached over and playfully gave me a nudge. "You heard the man, Sam. We're here. Put some starch in your spine so we can get out of here and onto a carriage. Or do you prefer to just flop over my shoulder and be carried like a sack of laundry? It makes no difference to me. But I would think even your minimal interest in the opinions of the masses would balk at that. Last time you were here you had a hero's welcome, but the show's over and your capricious public has moved on."

My dearest friend Carly and I had toured with a comedy review of our own design for the past four years. At least two hundred different skits performed in whatever combination we chose on a night. They were written (or improvised), designed and nearly all roles played by the two of us. With production matters seen to by our chum Freddie, and chaperon duty as well as the occasional stage role played by Carly's doting brother and legal guardian, Spencer. The same gentleman who accompanied me now.

Carly and I had both passed the cusp of maidenhood in the public eye but luckily masks and greasepaint were my shields against the curious eyes of the crowd. Now Carly was overseas in Europe with her absentee father and I was trying to bravely face the next step in my life; when I had truly planned to partner with Carly in show business indefinitely. I was not much for planning but that idea was the closest thing to a life plan I had.

It had ended abruptly and completely two months ago. When Carly decided to accompany her father on the same evening she saw him for the first time in five years. I certainly believed she was intoxicated with joy that he was safe and sound, as any word from him was semiannual at best. Plus this was the first time he had shown any interest in her.

Since Spencer was, in fact, the closest thing to a father I had ever had and he was closer to a cauliflower than a paternal figure. I had absolutely no concept of what my friend was going through. I tried to hold no resentment and just move on.

Holy Wood Academy of the Arts was a small private college where I might study mummery and the bardic arts. Plus, who knows, with the close relationship of both those subjects to spiritualism, perhaps I would study that too.

My name was not as known as it had been less than a year ago, and it was now rare for me to be recognized a handful of times in a week, but our show did mean I was accepted to the school without auditioning. My letter of intent to pursue an education there was answered with an itinerary, a course syllabus, and a congratulatory letter of acceptance.

I had chosen my classes and mailed the papers back only two days over deadline, a personal best for me. Just as today we were arriving the Wednesday before classes commenced when I had been specifically asked to allow a full week to acclimatize to the environment before classes, as it was my first year.  
But between my indifference and Spencer's absentmindedness I considered every day I arrived before actual commencement to be a point in my favor.

The very existence of Holy Wood amused me. A private college for women who would live the rest of their lives married to money. Who might have nothing to do but be interesting. So they would study drama, music, and performance. Plus spiritualism if they had a mind to I had heard, but that was not official.

All this so their husbands would think them entertaining and exotic. But if their marriages were slow in coming the only work they would be trained for is actresses and singers, not the most respected occupations for a lady of means.  
Or possibly mediums, I supposed, if they had the gift. These were sought after by the highest echelons of society, but you wouldn't let your son or brother marry one.

Graduates might try to be tutors and governesses, but they would be far less prepared than someone who had attended a more parochial school.

Holy Wood had been founded thirty years ago on a lark by a socialite who was said to 'have more dollars than sense'. The first headmistress bought the building back in 1866. There were mutterings about evil witches and blood sacrifice going on in the house, but I'm sure they were exaggerated, if not entirely false. The first headmistress put a stop to all that and turned the building into a school for young ladies. Creating a tradition of teaching students to be dedicated both to the pursuit of learning and to the controversial ideals of empowered womanhood. In theory the students aspire not to simply be homemakers, but to be leaders of society.  
I knew I agreed wholeheartedly, but must admit the idea might be before its time.

Among the ideals I loved that didn't quite jibe with the mores of the day, especially the culture of educational institutions it lurked on the fringes of; Holy Wood didn't hold to a standard curriculum and felt the girls got a far more rounded education because of it. The goal was to inspire the girls to investigate the world as they saw fit, and teach each other what they've learned.

They saw the role of the staff as guides and inspiration rather than being there to clutter our minds with dry facts. Which meant the school was unable to offer the usual selection of qualifications, and instead gave their own diploma. However, I was confident I'd find that theaters, concert halls, and opera houses, put far less stock in credentials than skills.

When we had a brief layover in San Francisco I had seen huge steam powered horseless auto-buses and smaller family sized ones with polished brass boilers. These might accommodate the pilot and the footman/stoker in the back plus perhaps four passengers, six if they were good friends or a family where some of them were children. I dearly wished I could ride on one but we only had thirty minutes before the train would have left without us. So Spencer and I just walked around the downtown area near the station to stretch our legs.

I held a lot of hope that more of the carriages would be found in L.A.. That perhaps one could be hired to transport us to Holy Wood Academy. But until then I enjoyed the beautiful California coast, until the serenity of it all put me to sleep. Where I remained until just now.  
With the conductor's caterwauling and Spencer poking, prodding and demanding I wake, I had no choice but to grumpily comply. But not until after I took a swing at him with fist and booted foot.  
I loved Spencer more dearly than anyone on this earth, except his sister, but I did not rise, even from napping, the jolly, happy go lucky girl I normally was.  
It was not as noticeable if I woke on my own, but if I was awakened I came up swinging.

Union Station shocked me, even on first sight. It wasn't as nice as San Francisco station, but it was huge. Even from this angle and distance i was surprised. We were traveling third class, although what others interpreted as my surliness, assured us a bench seat each to ourselves so we could stretch out. But now that we were stopped and gathering to leave it really came clear how crowded third class is. I wondered again why there was no second class.

They had the term second class, like women or immigrants were second class citizens. But I knew on neither boats nor trains was there a second class. Just first and third. Plus, boats had steerage as well, which was traveling in the baggage hold.

I asked Spencer and he explained there had been second class once, but then they thought to keep third class as crowded and dirty as possible to make anyone with aspirations to be thought middle class pay first class tickets. Third class cost what second class used to but they kept what was seen as the more humbling title. I knew on inner city routes their drive to push first class on all who could possibly scrape the fare together meant free third class fares for chimney sweeps and stable boys to keep the cars as dirty and stinky as possible.

But Spencer, as an moon-eyed artist, and I, as a Puckett, weren't distressed by such things.

Our car was not unlocked until the first class passengers were off and had collected their baggage. And still Spencer and I found our way blocked by a richly dressed couple leading a porter who was overburdened and looked like he was getting sick of them stopping every few feet to face each other and argue. I spun my shawl into a fat cord and snapped it near the man like one would twist and snap a towel. "Fuck off you two! There are people trying to walk here."

"Sam!" Spencer said shocked.

"Look you obnoxious little strumpet-" The man said turning toward me and starting to raise his walking stick. I caught him on the cheek with the next blow, raising a red welt on his face.

"Put your damn hand down or the next stroke takes an eye." I commanded.

He put his hand down but turned his gaze to Spencer. "For shame Sir," He said. "How dare you? If she was my bride I would buggy whip her in the public square for an unprovoked attack on a gentleman."

"Yeah," Spencer said with a chuckle, "She'd never go for that."

The porter said, "Please Sir, I can't hold your cases any longer. If I cannot take you to a taxi presently, please do advise me and I will set these down."

"You'll do no such thing!" The chizzbladder demanded. "Do not interrupt your betters to bemoan how you are expected to do your duties, boy. Or when I settle this trollop I can see the station master about relieving you of the duties you find so odious." He hissed the last, leaning into the porter.

The young man looked ready to throw the bags down and join the fray.  
I couldn't have some poor gent lose his position over something that I'd started.

"Trollop, Sir? You insult my honor!" I grabbed Spencer's umbrella from his hand and feinted the point toward the man's throat.

He jumped back tripping over his companion's skirt. Which was lucky for everyone but her.  
He turned his anger to this new target, calling her clumsy and telling her how she embarrassed him and how he'd never take her beyond the borders of their home again.

However, he did turn and pulling her wrist, he got back to the business of arguing and walking I'd interrupted. Only this time without continuing to stop and block traffic.

I couldn't be too empathetic to the poor girl. She had been shrieking at him before I even engaged with her piglicker companion. And now she was shouting about everything he would have to buy her in the city if he wanted her to keep silent with Mother, who always liked her better.  
This threw my assumption that they were a couple into question. But if they were and his mother supported them financially but didn't much care for him, it could still work. If it were her mother that supported them she would have no reason to mention that she was the woman's favorite.

"Sam, you have to watch your temper. The academy is going to have more rules than you're used to. You haven't been in any kind of organized education regularly since you were twelve. Sure you'd pop in at the local schoolhouse when Carly and you weren't touring, but you spent most of those days embroiling my sister in your shenanigans." Spencer said.

"Don't try to parent Spencer, you're poor at it. And you love my shenanigans." I replied.

Spencer was quiet for about fifteen seconds before saying, "Good point, well made. But I'm just trying to help."

"I have no interest in causing trouble. I chose this school because it is not known as a bastion of hard work in the educational sense. It is an art school. I will only be asked to work hard on those things I love and am willing to work on. I will be encouraged to be who I am, a sarcastic jester with a talent for mimicry and a love of the ridiculous.  
Don't worry about me. I worry about you. Remembering to eat without Carly or me there to remind you. I'm worried that you will start welding a new sculpture, accidentally cage yourself within it and then somehow set the iron on fire. That's far more likely than any fear you have for me." I explained, honestly concerned.

"Fine, you worry about me and I'll worry about you. But remember Freddie still lives across the street and he isn't going to let me incinerate myself." Spencer said.

"You're right. Mrs. Benson will never let him marry and he won't challenge her for anyone less than Carly herself. So unless she returns with a changed opinion of him, I can count on his discretion, to protect you from yourself, forever."

"Oh, thanks." Spencer said sarcastically, "Lets get a cab and head out while I still have some small shreds of pride."

Spencer carried my largest trunk, though I was almost certain I was stronger than him, I allowed it because I felt his comment about his 'small shreds of pride' might have some truth to it. He also carried his own small satchel that carried his toiletries and a few clothes to get through the trip down and back. I was honestly touched that he insisted on seeing me to the school safely. I wasn't his sister and he owed me nothing but he had treated me as well as Carly all my life.

I carried my two suitcases which along with my trunk contained all my worldly possessions. Dresses, two suits of boy's clothes (as disguises or simple convenience if doing any kind of active work where pants are easier), a few weapons Carly had given me from her father's stores when we discovered, quite by accident when rehearsing a scene, that I am naturally a dab hand with martial pursuits.  
I knew I tended to fight more easily than a lady should and had a natural athleticism that belied my admittedly lazy nature. But even I was shocked at how simple and logical actual structured combat came to me.  
I seemed to have a low to middlin' skill with any weapon the moment I lifted it and quickly progressed if I gave it any effort at all.  
This along with a few keepsakes of our travels and a quilt made by a great aunt that I liberated from my mother, was the sum and total of my worldly goods.  
My one keepsake from Carly, a gold locket with a small lock of her hair bound with silk thread, was around my neck. Although if I am being completely honest I also had a down pillow that I had taken from Carly's bed that I could cuddle when I missed the first true friend I'd ever had, who was still closer to me than any sister.  
But I saw no reason to make a big deal about that. Many girls had comfort objects that they named after a bosom friend when they went off to boarding school. Although I might admit usually those boarding schools were not colleges and those girls were rarely of marriageable age.

Spencer easily gained the services of a cabbie who immediately relieved me of my burden, stowed it and moved to help Spencer.  
I was excited to see that not only was his rig one of the horseless steam-carriages we'd seen, but it was of a completely new and interesting model. The open passenger compartment was in the front and behind us was the boiler, the driver also worked as a stoker and worked a foot pedal that dropped a scoop worth of coal from the coal bin above the boiler into the fire using a simple gravity drop. The cabbie was about my age and said he knew the academy well. Being an actor himself, he liked to attend the school's performances and was friendly with a few of the students.

"He's quite a handsome lad." Spencer said, as we got under way.

"I suppose." I said, not really interested in the subject. "He does have lovely hair."

"It's a shame to see such hair on a male." Spencer replied, by way of agreement.

"Men can have beautiful hair." I argued, "You have quite nice hair yourself."

"I suppose, but not like his. A woman's glory is her hair and it seems wasted when a woman would get more enjoyment and it might do the right girl some good."

I grunted noncommittally and looked at the scenery passing us by.

Los Angeles was quite a large city. It wasn't as crowded and densely packed as New York, was much more like my own Seattle than say New York or Boston. But it just went on and on. Put me more in mind of an empire than a city. Though intellectually I knew a true empire would be far larger.

I heard the lad rhythmically pumping the stoker like the pedal on a sewing machine, as we bustled along at quite an impressive clip.

"We're coming up on the school now." The lad said, pointing ahead and to the left. There were quite a few trees on the grounds and dusk was gathering. The shadows of the trees made it nearly night in the area at the center where I could catch a few pieces of buildings through the growth. We were nearly upon it when I got my first good look. Well as good as could be expected at this hour. It was a huge fine old house with colonnades and several outbuildings around the home were clearly visible, so I figured there was even more farther back.

The lad pulled into the wide circular gravel drive, unloaded my belongings, and stood unobtrusively to the side waiting as Spencer and I said our goodbyes.

"Travel with me for two days only to turn around and go back alone. I want you to know I really appreciate it." I said.

"It was my pleasure to do it, Sam. It was an adventure and I got to spend two uninterrupted days in your company. Which is good because I don't know when I'll see you again. I wish providence had given me the same time with Carly before she was gone." Spencer said.

"But I'm not going to be so far away as that," I said. "And it wouldn't surprise me a bit if you were asked to show a piece or two in a Los Angeles gallery soon enough."

"If that happens I will see you soon, but in case it doesn't, I'm glad to have been able to do this. Plus even if it was guaranteed we would get together once a month I still would have come. I would worry about your safety traveling alone. You do not need to even ask me to escort you anyplace anytime, I am at your disposal. I adore your company and I'd die if you were put in a dangerous situation I could have effected if I'd been there."

I knew the only way Spencer would be of use if I needed to engage an enemy is if I chose to stab them with his umbrella like the pus-bug at the train station. But there is no way I would say something so emasculating to someone I held so dear. A man I knew from experience was a sensitive soul. So I just thanked him and, after clasping his shoulders and kissing his cheek quickly, I said goodbye.

I offered a quick thank you to the cabbie and he said that he was sure he would see me around.  
I knocked on the front door of my new home as Spencer and the lad rode away.

The door was answered by a blandly pretty women of about forty, with cafe au lait skin and medium length dark hair that was quite curly. When she shook my hand, her grip had the slightly tacky moistness of a woman who loves her lotions and unguents. Her handshake was like an overcooked fish that was somehow both boiled and greasy.  
She was not overall a weak looking woman in any way. Clearly she was just one of those ladies who thought it unwomanly to have a firm grip. Which I believed just reflected poorly on those individuals who thought it. There was something to be said for a woman not turning it into the strength contest some men might, but a handshake should always be firm.

"Miss Puckett, I recognize you from your performance, which I enjoyed. My name is Miss Lane. I am the school's pastoral counselor. Here at Holy Wood we feel its most suitable to have the girls address staff by first names preceded by an honorific as a sign of respect. Miss Helen, the headmistress, is unfortunately not in presently. However the founder, though no longer headmistress, still remains quite active. She is in residence at present and I know she would like to meet you, welcome you, and get you settled. She asks that we all call her Nona Maree, as she feels like a grandmother to each of her girls here.  
Now come with me. I will escort you to her parlor where I will leave you to sit down a moment while I fetch Nona Maree.

Inside it was near as light as day in the foyer with gaslights in sconces along the walls and lamps on tables. It was a bit dimmer in the halls, but we passed a bright and cheery room with younger girls in uniforms playing a game I could not immediately identify. As a college Holy Wood was like half high school and half university. So the young ladies who walked the halls were from 16 to 21 and could graduate at 18 with a preparatory certificate, to enter a university or begin their lives; or 20/21 with a diploma.

We walked up a broad stairway and turned along the short end of another hall, several of the doors were shut, but the few open ones showed offices. At the end of the hall there was a much larger office, done up more as a parlor, as Miss Lane had said, than like an office.  
The furniture was dark in burgundy and navy upholstery but the wood was fine and ornately carved. Miss Lane seated me on a beautiful Queen Anne chair and departed to fetch the founder.

I got up and started looking around. There were several beautiful and probably expensive paintings. Plus, I found several photographs of a woman with children and later those children with children. There was a large painting on the wall of a beautiful young woman. She bore enough of a resemblance to the older of the mothers I assumed it was her when she was nearly young enough to go hear, and furthermore I guessed, by the location, that both were of the founder I was waiting to meet. I was comparing the photo to the painting when I was joined by a stout woman with short hennaed hair. She wore a very nice navy dress with lace at the collar, of a cut that flattered her and said to me that she was no knitting grandmother.  
She seemed more like the elderly English scholars I'd heard of, who decide 79 is a perfectly appropriate age to go to New Guinea and live among the Bumbi people for a year and publish scholarly articles of their experience. A look that said she still had plenty of living to do. I hoped to be the same when I reached that time.

"My dear Miss Puckett," The woman said, with what seemed like true joy. "May I call you Samatha?"

"I'd prefer Sam, Mrs. Valentine." I replied.

"And I'd prefer you call me Nona Maree, dear. Everyone does."

"You have a lovely family, ma'am." I said. I believed that was something nice people said. I was making an effort, like I'd told Spencer I would.

"Thank you dear. I started the school right after my own daughter went away to a boarding school in the East. My husband passed the year before and I needed something to fill my days.  
Unfortunately neither of my own children shared my interest in performance. But they did alright for themselves. My son is an alienist and my daughter is the dye mistress of a fine New York house. So many of the new fashions each year owe their jewel-like hues to her eye.  
Plus apparently such talents as my own skip a generation. My granddaughter is a student here. In fact her roommate has recently graduated and I had intended that you room with her. I've sent for her so that after we speak a moment she might show you around."

I had no interest in rooming with anyone at all. It hadn't even occurred to me that it would be expected. Now that it had been brought up it was obvious that everyone knew that was how boarding schools worked, so I couldn't argue it. But still, the entitled granddaughter of the founder? Probably would catalog my every fault and misstep to discuss with granny over precious private teas.  
Sometimes I cursed that small amount of fame that Carly and my acting lark had granted me. There is no other possible reason a stranger would be roomed with such an august and important student.

"You don't need to put anyone out." I said. "Surely your granddaughter would rather room with a friend."

"Oh she's a fan of your show. (I knew it!) Besides all her friends already have roommates."

"But your own granddaughter, your baby's baby rooming with a stranger. A stranger known for her temper and violent tendencies." I said.

"Oh I see what you're doing. You're worried that you will have to always be on your best behavior. Because any shenanigans or tomfoolery will be immediately brought to me.  
Firstly, my granddaughter was raised to put friendship first. As long as she doesn't honestly believe there to be significant danger, she will keep your secrets like a vault. Secondly, the reason I stepped down as headmistress is I am too playful and happy go lucky myself. I'm not going to hold a bit of youthful abandon against you. And lastly, give the girl a shot. If after the tour you choose not to room with her come back here and we will make other arrangements without hurting her feelings."

At that moment there was a small knock at the door and it opened to reveal the prettiest girl I ever saw. A bird boned little pixy with hair that in this light seemed to be the red purple of port wine.

"Here she is Sam, my granddaughter Catarina Valentine, called Cat. Cat, honey, this is Sam Puckett."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Puckell. I love your shows."

In an instant the decision was made, as I was lost in my new roommate's smile.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm afraid its Puckett, Miss Valentine. And thank you. Nona Maree here said you'd show me around." I replied a moment later when I realized I hadn't said anything.  
I had begun to admit to myself that I was what was called an invert on the subject of boys and girls a little over a year ago. I have had the feelings as long as I could remember, but in possibly the only useful advice my mother had ever given me she told me that it was a normal phase and that she had gone through it herself.

However, that was when I was twelve and I was now 18. In truth, I had found the feelings just grew stronger.

I had only come to terms with the fact that Carly did not feel the same way about a year ago. It was this realization that helped me toward the painful realization that it wasn't a phase it was my identity.

Now I was honestly truly over her, where my feelings for her were no stronger than the same love she felt for me. But it was a long hard road and I was not going to do it again. Miss Valentine and I would never be more than friends and roommates. And I would not think about how her smile made the perfect cupid's bow of her lips draw back and launch an arrow into my heart with each twitch and movement. Because I was not looking at her mouth and I certainly was not wishing it were pressed to my own.

We both established that we had permission to call each other by our first names. I balked that we had just met, even though I had rarely ever waited and generally called everyone by their first name immediately. If I even gave them the respect of a name and didn't call them some generic term like 'my good woman' or simply 'hey you'.

I knew as soon as I objected that there was no way I could not call my roommate by her first name.  
Though I keenly felt the sting of every intimacy, when I tried to tell myself that I was not allowed to fall even one inch deeper into infatuation.  
Little did I know.

"Most girls come here a fair sight younger than you. They might leave at eighteen but they rarely arrive at that time. But that's alright, I'm happy to help you fit right in." Cat said.

I was a bit too preoccupied to answer. Luckily after giving me a minute she just kept right on talking. "The rest of this side of the hall is all offices for staff and the Student President has her office here too. Past the stairway those rooms are our classrooms. The other classrooms are in other buildings on the grounds for the most part but the writing classrooms are here.  
Our bedrooms are further up. Our actual bedroom, yours and mine, is on the top floor. There is only one room at that level. We are not in the attic but just below.  
We, as in the girls, do have free access to the attic. Although we are discouraged from spending too much time up there in the dark and we have to ask if we want to bring anything down and use it.  
Our room was used as storage until the year I came to the school. Then it was cleaned out because there was the largest enrollment we had seen until that point. Supposedly room assignments are random, but since our room is half again the size of any other room here, including staff. Except for the headmistress and Nona Maree's who each have self contained cottages on the property. Anyway, because of that, I have suspicions that my Nona might have had her hand in my being assigned that room. There is even a small part of the attic that is like our adjoined closet. When they decided to use it as a room they decided to close off the second access stairs to the attic. So whoever had that room wouldn't be going through everything in the attic all the time. But also so people couldn't come into our room through the attic. Because it was more convenient to just drop the new wall down at the end of the little alcove entryway to make it flush with the attic wall we now have a stairway leading to a six by eight foot room. I've never used it. My last roommate was a second cousin, the only girl except myself of Nona Maree's blood family to go here. Terribly smart and kind; Student President two years running. But also frightfully swotty and officious; she had no interest in a secret clubhouse hideaway, and discouraged my interest. But I suspect you, Sam, would not be opposed to such a thing."

She paused for my answer, I had lost the train of her narrative twice, lost in watching her lips and tongue move. I gave myself a slap inside my head to snap me out of it. A skill I'd honed with Carly during an infatuation hat started when I was twelve and didn't definitiv two years before. "Sounds bully, Cat."

Cat Valentine looked confused for a moment, I realized that 'bully' meaning good was something I had more heard in my travels back east and was about to explain myself. However it would seem while it wasn't as common, Cat clearly knew what it meant. That instant of confusion was followed by a dawn of understanding and she said, "Grand!" with an emphatic nod.

We walked past the stairway I had come up behind Miss Lane. Cat continued, "Now these are all the writing classes. Also called the 'standard' classes. Art History, Shakespeare, Production classes and the like. All the non-performance based classes. Where the teacher lectures and we take notes, do research, and possibly occasionally present an assignment to the class, but it is not interpreting and performing it is studying and presenting. Shakespeare has a performance component, what is called the Shakespeare lab. But that class meets in one of the performance rooms. Same teacher though, Miss Ermine. We have her brother, Mr Erwin for Drama and Performance. Which is basically an acting class. Of course our Theatrical Technique is also an acting class of a sort and our Vocal and Performance class has an acting element. Just one features more improvisation and reading the same lines with different emotions. While the other is focused more on the technical aspects of performing with directing and blocking and projecting your voice. And the last is singing, some dancing and physical stuff but focused on singing in a consistent voice while moving and acting in the form of singing in different accents with different demeanor and emotions. In the manner of performing in a music hall, cabaret or musical theater.  
There also is Chorale Performance which is singing without acting. Musical Scholarship where you could learn to play the harp, piano or harpsichord. Mostly that is only mandatory with the younger girls. I didn't have the interest so I am no longer studying the piano but I did for the first two years.  
Since you came to us later perhaps you will have to do your preparatory minimums with the younger girls. But I doubt it because I believe we are in many of the same classes. And I know many of those classes have prerequisites that are being waived in respect to your existing theatrical experience."

"Do you think that's good or bad? Do you think I am missing out on anything or, having taken those classes, do you think that I probably do have those skill sets already?" I asked her. I figured that she would know having done them all. I also was still trying to curry favor with her, I must admit. Showing confidence in her opinions was a good way to do that.

"I think you'll do fine. And I would like to make clear if you find any struggles whatsoever I am always at your disposal. Please simply ask me." Cat said, with a sweet sincerity that melted my heart and made me change the subject immediately, trying to run from the carnal curiosity that again attempted to bubble up within me.

"So you said we have a brother and sister teaching? What other classes do we have together?"

"Okay. We have Shakespeare with Miss Ermine, class and lab. Drama and Performance with Mr Erwin. Who likes to be called Sikowitz, their last name. But with no 'Mr'. They are actually twins. I find twins so interesting. Don't you? (She didn't even pause to hear my, 'I never gave it any thought.' And just continued.) Especially male/female twins. The Sikowitzes look very little alike but they have very similar personalities. Odd, but brilliant. They're my favorite teachers. We also have Theatrical Technique, that is certainly one where I feel your experience will serve you well. I believe you have Stage-writing and Composition while I am in Vocal Performance. We are back together for Chorale Performance and I don't know what you are in for your final class, but I know you are not joining me for History and Bardic Arts, but I am uncertain what you are doing in those hours. Tomorrow, when it's light, I will take you around and show you the stages and performance rooms, everything else there is of interest on the grounds.  
Now it's nearly time for dinner, I know you'd like to wash up, so I was thinking, your bags will likely not have been brought upstairs. I was thinking I would show you to the bath chamber on the next floor, which you're likely to have to yourself at this hour. There are bathing rooms on each of the residence floors. Each has four basins and three tubs. Luckily we are built over a natural hot spring, so there is never any shortage of piping hot water. There is one off the landing between the fourth floor and our little nest in the upper branches of the building. The girls from the floor sometimes use it. But really only during the morning rush when everyone is trying to get ready. Most the time it is ours alone. While you are washing I will find Sinjin and have her fetch a dress and clean underthings from your bags downstairs and bring them to you. When you're refreshed we can go downstairs and meet some of the other girls. After dinner we all go to the conservatory for an hour of reflection, and then later I will take you up and show you our room."

"Certainly, Cat, as you wish." I replied. It did sound fine, but I would have agreed to anything at that moment.

Cat took me to the bathing rooms and showed me the basin with one pipe with a spigot to begin and end the flow of water. And a pump next to it so I could pump cold water from the well into the basin and add hot spring water until the temperature was comfortable for washing. Against the wall was a set of four wrought iron shelves. The larger, lower, two shelves had big fluffy towels. A middle shelf had hand towels and the top one had folded face flannels.

"There's also two WCs behind those doors, if you need them." Cat said, pointing.

I looked toward the two wooden doors with stained glass crescent moons on the front. The glass at least reminded of the cutout on an outhouse door, so I at least knew what she was talking about without asking. But I did spend a moment racking my brain trying to figure why she called the privy a WC.

I understood fancy people saying lavatory and had heard a few people say the french toilette, as they felt themselves too airy and refined to call it what it was.

Then I remembered. WC meant 'water closet' and was actually one I'd heard quite a few times. Just was unfamiliar with the abbreviation.

I didn't even have to go but indoor privies were still enough of a novelty in my life, I took a look anyway. I opened the closest door and there was a clean white porcelain commode with a nicely carved rosewood base that covered whatever pipes and gewgaws made the damn thing work. There was a pipe that came out of the back to a large water container above. It was made of cast iron coated in matching white porcelain and had a brass chain with a fat wooden bead the size of a small egg to pull releasing the water and the gravity allowed it to build pressure when it drained sufficient to have the thing function.

"These must be a real godsend in the winter." I said to Cat.

"They certainly are." She answered, "Honestly I'm happy enough just to have them at night. No tripping on a root or freezing in the midnight air.

Cat left me to wash as she fetched my clothes. Initially I only stripped down to my bloomers. But I knew she was bringing me a fresh pair so I skinned down completely. I was rushing through a quick whore's bath of face, hands, armpits, bit on the chest, under the breasts, and my tail bits front and back. The soap was the yellowy white of fresh butter with bits of herbs and flowers that made it smell quite pretty.

The chance to wash did make me feel a good deal fresher. Naturally Cat returned when I had one foot up on the sideboard, arched over with a soapy flannel giving my nethers a good seeing to.

I blushed just a smidgen, but at least it wasn't a stranger and since the bathtubs were lined along the wall opposite the sink I surmised that only the WCs were seen to have a purpose worthy of privacy at this school. So unless I became some sort of shrinking violet bathing at midnight to avoid onlookers I needed to allow none of this to matter. Which wasn't hard for me. More than half the swimming holes I've been to had a policy of go naked or not at all. Enforced by the fact that no one I knew too young to marry would even think of swimming in their clothes.

I preferred to keep such a sight from the company of boys. But since I hadn't owned a bathing suit before Carly suggested I might want one in other countries and those hotels dear enough to have swimming pools, I generally used rock and stick throwing to encourage anyone from joining my friends and I in a swim. And when the interlopers were men not boys, I chose the better face of valor and exited myself.

"Sinjin will be along directly." Cat said. "I'm just going to give my face and hands a quick scrub, while we wait because dinner will be starting in a moment and if we are a few minutes late I'm going to want to eat as soon as we arrive.

My roommate and new friend almost mesmerized me as she unbuttoned the top of her dress and folded it behind her at her waist so she wouldn't splash it washing up. She was girlishly small enough to require no bodice. So underneath was only a thin chemise of soft cotton crepe. I could see the outline of her breasts like joyful little mandarin oranges.

I struggled not to stare, but quickly finished so I could stand there, my eyes feasting on her beauty and only appear to be done washing and just dutifully looking at her as she spoke and washed while we waited for my clothes.

Now that I was free to stare I remembered a question I had. "Now that we are truly friends, Cat, I have to ask. Please don't be insulted, but how did you get that color in your hair?"

In the bright light of the bathroom with gaslights in mirrored sconces so all light was directed into the room, it was clear that her hair was indeed a bright burgundy. A color I knew could never come to a girl naturally.

"It's a funny story to be sure." Cat said. "My bosom friend, Jade, who you will meet at dinner; knows sorceries beyond the spiritualism taught semi-secretly in these halls. She has an uncle in the Order of the Golden Dawn in England and claims to come from a line of hereditary witches that date back to the ancient Celts. Her father rejected his birthright, to hear her explain it, and tried to hide it from her. But she rejected his rejection and went to live for a year with her grandfather. Only agreeing to leave his tutelage if she were sent to Holy Wood Academy. Her parents weren't happy but saw it as the lesser of two evils and capitulated.  
In any event, my hair. On my last birthday we were having a fete with family and friends in town and she thought it would be a jolly jape to give me a clown face including a bright red fright wig of hair.  
Well to hear her say it her affection for me foiled her own working, to hear Nona tell, the benevolent spirits that watch over our school protected me. But either way, I woke with this hair, but nothing else amiss.  
Surprising to no one but myself I loved it and asked her never to reverse it. There is some suspicion it may turn back naturally as I get older. I'll cross that bridge when I get there but for now I have hair the color of my Nona's red velvet cape."

When Sinjin brought my things, she was a bony English girl with wild dark blonde hair stuffed only semi-successfully into a work bonnet and large round spectacles. From the name I was thinking she would be an East Indian, honestly. I'd never heard the name but it had that sort of feel about it.  
It turned out to be a contraction of Saint John that was used in The Empire.

Sinjin stood to the side holding my as yet unclaimed garments while Cat moved to help me dress.  
Help I certainly didn't need, but was not going to reject. Especially when she told me to feel free to lean on her head if I felt my balance slipping and proceeded to lift my foot and roll my stocking up to my thigh. Then she followed with the other before I'd really caught my breath from the pleasure of the first.

Quite honestly, even with my little internal detour into debauchery, the help did make dressing a matter of two minutes rather than five. Not a fact I could really see being useful, but still it was interesting to know.

When Cat had me dressed, she offered her arm to lean on while Sinjin knelt to put my boots on. A dab hand with a button hook, she had the twelve buttons fastened with the speed of a zipper.

When the two had announced me dressed; Sinjin went about her duties, collecting our used towels and washcloths and Cat led me downstairs to where maybe fifty or fifty-five girls gathered in the main foyer waiting to go into the refectory.


	3. Chapter 3

Cat brought me, politely but insistently, through the throng; toward the front where two girls stood. A tall, willowy, conventionally pretty girl with long wavy brown hair and light tan skin. With her stood a slightly shorter one with milk white skin and black hair who had the buxom ripe body of a hundred sexual fantasies. Although, myself, I preferred something a little smaller. Even before my burgeoning crush on my diminutive roommate. The taller girl had a regalness to her stance and gaze that I found both ridiculous and intimidating.  
But her companion was the one every girl in the area found some reason to watch as if she drew their eyes magnetically.  
Though no one would meet her gaze. They always looked away at the last moment. I guessed this wasn't out of kindness or respect the way their peers seemed to defer to her friend. There was clearly fear in the eyes of those few who almost, accidentally, met her gaze.

I suppose my dear roommate subscribes to the idea that any new student must be made to feel like a freak by getting the maximum amount of students gawping at her like rubes at a freak show.  
Because when she stopped me, before introducing me to these two, who I was pretty sure were her friends, by the fact she dragged me to them and the pleased look they each gave her.  
Although with the sexy pale one, it was much more subtle, but there.

"Ladies, ladies if you please. If I could have your attention." My new friend called out.

Nearly everyone turned to her expectantly.

"Hey!" The raven haired girl barked.

The last few heads snapped to look at Cat in an instant.

The girl motioned to Cat to continue and my new friend said, "I am pleased to announce a new student has joined us. A girl you may have heard of. A girl you may have seen perform in her popular variety act all around the country. Ladies I present to you, Miss Sam Puckell."

"I'm afraid it's still Puckett." I tried to whisper but she didn't hear me so I had to repeat it quite loudly.

Only to have her say, "What do you mean still? If it's Pucklett, it's Pucklett."

"It's Puckett not Pucklett and I said 'still' because you made the same Puckell' mistake when we met."

"I'm pretty sure you said Pikelet, and the only reason I knew it was Pucklett is because I've seen it written down." Cat said.

"It's not Pucklett or Puckell. It's Puckett." I said, beginning to truly see that this lovely sprite was odd.

"I think we'll just call you Sam, Sam. And as soon as you sort out what surname you prefer, just tell us. We know all about stage names here." She said slyly, as if we shared a secret.

"Clever compromise, Cat." The pale girl said, touching Cat's shoulder.

"Its not a stage name. It's the name I was born to." I complained.

"No one cares, dear." The pale one said, as the tall one said, "I'm quite pleased to meet you, Sam. Whatever your name."

"My name is Puckett." I said.

"I believe you." The tall girl replied.

"I'm going to wait and see, myself." The other girl said, but her lips held the merest ghost of a smile and I hoped she was joshing. But she didn't seem the jesting type on first glance, that was certain.

Cat was looking at me expectantly. Finally she said, "Don't just stand there like a haddock, introduce yourself or something."

"I'm Sam **Puckett**," I stressed, "I don't like talking to people or doing things. If you have any questions about me or my show it may be possible for you to find an address for Carly Shay in Europe. Even with the months it would take for a letter to reach her and a reply to come back, it will still be faster than you could expect to get an answer from me."

"Well that was simply rude." Cat said.

"I find simple rudeness is more readily understood by stupid people." I said.

The pale girl finally gave me a small but sincere smile, "You know, I've found that to be true myself."

"Jade hates everyone too." Cat said. Then introduced us. "Sam Puck-, Sam Pu-, Sam P. This is my closest bosom friend Jade West. Jade, this is my new friend and roommate Sam P."

I put my hand out. "People are the absolute worst." I said, by way of greeting.

"I'd prefer beetles." Jade replied, nodding and shaking my hand.

Then Cat introduced the tall girl. "And this is my dear friend Tori Vega. Frontrunner for student president and every teacher's cheerful little chipmunk."

Tori looked scandalized for a moment. Then her look of shock melted and she said. "I want to argue, but what can I say. I do like people and I'm not going to apologize. I'm sorry."

Jade touched my arm, saying. "If you point it out, she'll stop doing it." Just as I was just about to acknowledge that she had immediately followed a statement about not apologizing with an apology.

But clearly it amused Jade and I wasn't about to ruin someones fun for no good reason.

"Dinner, my lovelies." Nona Maree called from the stairs as she descended. "You may try to ingratiate yourselves past Sam's obvious defenses over the rest of the term. But now it is time for us to share a delightful meal. Please, join me."

"She's right." Cat said. "The food here is very good."

Nona Maree came through the crowd. Two older girls opened the doors in front of her and she entered first.  
There were long banquet tables with white linen tablecloths. Each place was set with silverware on a loosely woven wool place mat alternating navy blue and burgundy with a folded white linen napkin.  
There were no plates on the table but I immediately saw that the reason for this was that there was a stack of plates at the beginning of a line of chafing dishes and a carving station that had ham, beef and lamb. We walked down the line with Nona Maree first and then generally oldest to youngest. But there was no strict structure. Since Nona Maree was speaking to Cat and myself we and Cat's friends just followed her through the line, even though we were younger than many. But there was not even grumbling that I saw.

"So what do you think, Sam?" Nona Maree asked with real interest. "Do you think you could be happy here?"

"You have a truly beautiful place here, as far as I can see. All the modern conveniences. And your granddaughter, ma'am. She really is charming beyond words."

I wracked my brain for something specific to say. I'd seen polite people do that. Not just general 'everything is satisfactory' but single something out. "You really must tell me, that soap in the washroom so rich and with such a pleasant scent. Do you make it here? Or send away to Paris for it?"

"No no, it is all made on site with lye from our own wood ash. Avocado oil from our avocado grove. Flowers and herbs from our garden, and filtered kitchen fats finish it off."

I chose some corn and a baked potato. I didn't want any green beans or steamed greens. I took two rolls. There was a cucumber and tomato salad that looked good. It got me thinking about how if I was back east it would be starting to be a little more difficult to get fresh vegetables. I knew there would be a greenhouse on the property and this was sunny southern California, so I was thinking it would probably be okay.

When I reached the carving station on the end I just had them keep piling ham and roast beef on my plate. I even took a little roast lamb, even though I wasn't as fond of it as the other two.

When I sat down Jade said, "It's nice to see a young lady with an appetite like a brown bear. You'll probably have a lot to talk about with Tori." I looked across to Tori then looked down the table. I saw that Tori was the only other girl whose plate was heaped with a small mountain of food.

I clicked my fork against hers and said, "Cheers."

They were right. The food was excellent. It had a bit of an institutional flavor, but only in its simplicity. When you are trying to appeal to fifty different palates the best way to do that, especially if you are not a fancy expensive chef, is to keep things simple.

It certainly was the equal of all but the absolute best restaurants I had ever been to, anywhere in the world.

After dinner we all lined at the coathooks by the door. Everyone was shrugging into navy blue cloaks. Large circles of fabric with hoods that came down near knee length all the way around. There were two reinforced slits in the front so the girls could still use their arms.

Little Sinjin, who was collecting dishes and bussing them back to the kitchen, put her big tin basin down and ran off to get my coat from my things. As Cat said, "I'm sure they'll take your measurements tomorrow and get you yours. Nona Maree gives each of us one, as a gift. She isnt much for uniforms but she does like us to look like we're all together if we go into town or on an outing as a group."

Sinjin was only a few minutes so I was ready to go before everyone else had filed out and the four of us walked with the others.

"So what are you doing here?" Jade asked, only a little bit confrontationally.

"Carly moved to Europe. I had no plans and few prospects. So I thought I would try this place." I began.

"How did you even hear of us?" Cat asked.

"I don't know. A friend of a friend, I suppose. Performing is not exactly considered the height of appropriate vocations for a young lady. Just because women are playing women's roles now, does not mean that much has changed since the Bard's time. I was a month short of twelve and my comedy revue was just beginning as a local entertainment in Seattle city the first time a foul blackguard clutched at my bosom and said everyone knew an actress was just a whore having a rest between men."

"Men are pigs." Jade said and Cat agreed vehemently enough I knew there was a story there.

"Well you won't hear me debating that. The only male I have any use for at all is Spencer. Who's like a brother to me, you may remember him from my show."

"That stage manager gent? He seemed weedy to me." Jade said.

"That was Carly's friend Freddie. He is quite the weed, honestly. But is a tolerable soul at heart." I replied.

"Tolerable?" Tori asked, "That is certainly damning with faint praise."

"No," Cat said. "Spencer was the one you did that funny skit with where he is bent over and you are pick-a-back astride him and the two of you are covered in a great dress. Then you have your arms in the sleeves and he has his head poking out with a doll's body attached and you pretended to be mother and babe. It really was quite funny." Cat laughed as she remembered.

The other two remembered then and laughed as well, along with another girl who was a stranger who laughed and said that the skit was truly inspired and I thanked her.

In that instant I almost dropped 'invert' into the conversation. Between the vehemence of their agreement with the porcine nature of the male sex and the fact that Jade's hand strayed to Tori's waist when she said it. I almost took a chance.

Of course that was when I tripped over a fat root and the subject changed pretty quickly to me falling over.

I caught myself on the tree, so I didnt actually go down. I just scraped my palms on the rough bark and twisted my ankle a bit. Not to where it was injured, just tender.

"What the blazes is this reflection nonsense anyway?" I said loudly, then looked around to see if my language shocked my new friends. I generally am more of the 'go fuck a coachman' stripe of swearer, moreso than one who blushes after saying 'blazes'. But I was around proper ladies now.

They didnt even acknowledge it. Which was a comfort. Cat just said, "Think of it as church without the religion. We meet in the solarium, sit in rows, some of the girls in their last year of musical performance play a selection of meditative music while we sit in silence and contemplate the growing life around us or look up to the glass ceiling and contemplate the sky, the stars, and the heavens. If we are settled and do our meditations we are left in silence or very low talking. But if Nona Maree feels we are not focused she will speak, giving us things to think about."

Jade pointed up into the trees. "Not to mention the ghosts and spirits,"

I whipped around almost fast enough to fall over again. But I didn't see anything.

"Right," Cat said. "Now, I've seen colors sometimes and certainly there has been a heavy or mysterious feeling in the air on occasion. But I've never seen anything I'd call supernatural. Nevertheless, the sensitive sisters among us say ghosts and spirits gather at this time as well."

"Spiritually sensitive." Jade clarified.

"I don't think anyone would ever think you meant emotionally sensitive, dear." Tori said.


End file.
